


Let Me Touch Your Fire

by only_more_love



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton is a Menace, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Sex, Some Humor, Steve Rogers is a Punk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: Steve doesn't want to share Tony.





	Let Me Touch Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> In here, Clint isn't married.

They settled on lunch outside at a diner seven blocks from the tower. Eyes shut, Steve exhaled and turned his face up to the sun. Let it seep heat into his face and his hair. Chairs scraped the sidewalk; voices and laughter rose and fell, backlit by car horns and the deeper bass of truck horns, too. Music all around him—even in the quiet, expectant spaces between each of Tony’s heartbeats—and the sun kind on his face like his ma’s fingers on his forehead so long ago. It felt… It felt like the sunlight recharged something inside him.

Spring. Finally, spring.

Steve’s eyes opened and focused on Tony. Always Tony.

“You look like a big, golden-haired cat—no, a lion—sunning itself.”  
  
Steve huffed a laugh and reached for his burger. He took a bite and glanced across the street. A small group of kids swarmed around a street vendor who was selling balloon animals. Steve paused in his chewing and smiled, watching the man hand what appeared to be a purple balloon dog to a little girl whose brown hair was tied back into a ponytail with a curly red ribbon surrounding it.

The warm shade of brown reminded him of Tony’s eyes.

His hands itched for a brush. Paint.

“You know, if there’s stuff you want to try, you should tell me. I’m all ears.”

Still holding his burger, Steve finished chewing and swallowed before turning back to Tony. “Sorry. Stuff I want to try where?” Over time, he’d gotten used to how quickly Tony’s brain could hop from one topic to another; that didn’t mean Steve always knew what he was talking about.

From across the small table, Tony picked up his glass and slicked a finger through the condensation covering it. He smiled, one eyebrow slanted in that way that Steve had learned usually meant he was thinking something dirty. “In bed,” he replied—and flicked his tongue against the tip of his straw. “I mean, some of it you might wind up hating, but it’s fun to explore. Try new things.” He set his glass back down and leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands spread wide in an expansive gesture. “You never know what’ll stick.”

Something nudged Steve’s calf. A glance flicked downward revealed it was Tony’s shoe. Steve set his burger on his plate and took a sip of water―cold but without ice―using the time to gather his thoughts even as his cheeks warmed. Arching his own eyebrow at Tony in return, he leaned back in his chair, propping one ankle up on his knee. “Are you trying to play footsie with me?”

“Maybe.” Tony’s smile grew sun-bright, curling lines around his eyes and deep into his cheeks. (Spring. Finally, spring.) Mischief glittered in his eyes. “Look. Doesn’t have to be anything really big or crazy." He shrugged and scraped a hand through his hair. The vivid sunlight picked out threads of red and specks of silver in his hair. He hadn't cut it recently, and Steve secretly loved how the additional length let his natural curls and waves peek through—before Tony tamed them with product, of course. Steve knew he’d get it cut soon, but until then, he’d enjoy the touch of those wild, curly ends against his hands. "It could be. Or it could be small. Baby steps. Use your Google-fu. Wait, Grandpa,”—Tony tapped his fingers against the tabletop—“you don’t know what that means, do you?”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know what that means, Tony.”

“Great. Well, then you can do that, or ask J.A.R.V.I.S. I could even take you to a sex shop, or you could, you know, watch some porn. Or we could watch some together, or―”

“―I like what we do,” Steve replied in a quieter voice, cutting Tony off after a quick scan of their surroundings. Thankfully, no one at the neighboring tables appeared to be paying them any attention. He wasn’t a prude, but they were sitting in public, at midday. Was Tony dissatisfied? Was that what he was trying to communicate? Did he not like how they were together in bed, because Steve―?

Tony’s hand shot out across the unsteady metal table, making it rock just a little. His fingers brushed the top of Steve’s hand; the burnt-sugar eyes Steve never tired of looking into were kind and warm as they met his. “So do I,” Tony said, and there was a soft note curling through his voice that soothed Steve’s anxious thoughts. “Are you kidding me? Steve. Come on. You have to know that. You’re terrific, and so’s the sex—you do know that, right?—and I swear it wasn’t a criticism,” he continued, “I promise, sunshine. I want...I just want you to be happy.”

Tony stopped talking, but his gaze stayed on Steve’s face, searching, maybe. Pleading?

Nodding once, Steve laced his fingers together with Tony’s. “I am happy.”

The tight lines in Tony's forehead relaxed. “Good.” Tony exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “So just think about it, okay, will you?”

Steve stroked his thumb across Tony’s knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth, until he felt the tension in Tony's hand ease. “Yeah. Okay. I will if you will. And by the way”―Steve unfolded himself from his chair and stepped toward Tony, leaning down until his mouth was right by his ear and his hand curved against the soft, bare skin at the back of Tony's neck―"you can tease me all you like, but remember: this grandpa knows how to take you apart with his tongue.”

When Tony started to choke on his soda, Steve just smiled and pounded him on his back. “Breathe, Tony.”

# # #

One evening, Steve sat his desk and set down the pencil he’d been using to sketch Tony’s hand. He glanced up at the ceiling. “J.A.R.V.I.S., do you know…?” Sure, he knew the AI didn’t actually live there, but directing his voice toward the ceiling was proving to be a hard habit to break, despite how hard Tony laughed every time he caught Steve doing that.

“Yes, Captain Rogers, do you require some assistance?”

Thinking of his and Tony’s recent lunchtime conversation about sex, he sighed. “Never mind, J.A.R.V.I.S. Thank you anyway.”

“It is always my pleasure to help you in any way I can.”

Pleasure. Huh. Smiling a little to himself, Steve opened a desk drawer and pulled out his StarkPad.

# # #

The package arrived five days later. The front desk staff gave it to Steve and had him sign for it, and he raced up to his room as quickly as he could, hoping not to run into any of the other Avengers along the way.

For once, luck was on his side. As soon as he shut and locked his door behind him, Steve tore into the discreet brown packaging. Sure, Steve knew it wasn’t _that_ adventurous a thing, especially by Tony’s standards, and part of him felt ridiculous about being excited and nervous about something so insignificant. Still, ordering it had still taken a fair bit of courage for him. Baby steps, like Tony had said.

Steve took off his shoes and all his clothes and put on the new item. Biting his lip, he forced himself to look in the mirror. There were still days when all he saw when he glanced in the bathroom mirror was his old, familiar body, the short, sickly one with slender limbs and lungs that ached, sure, but also the one he’d spent more years actually living in. His years in the ice didn’t count. He blinked several times and brought into focus the only body he had now.  

Before he had much of a chance to get comfortable wearing his purchase, the call to assemble came in. Steve smiled a tiny smile, cheeks flushed warm and a tingle in his belly, and twisted a little to eye his reflection a final time before he strode to his closet and pulled out his uniform and shield.

Time to go to work. Duty called.

# # #

“Just once I’d like to fight something cute and fluffy,” Clint said, face twisted in a grimace as they marched off the Quinjet and onto the landing pad at the tower. “But no, it’s always gotta be something disgusting like huge, hairy spiders.” Scowling, he swiped his forearm at the unidentified substance that was most likely spider guts sprayed over his cheek—and disturbingly close to his mouth.

Tony shuddered and stepped sideways, putting more distance between them. “Ugh. You are vile. Can’t you at least wait till you’re in the shower to clean that shit up?”

“Awww… Don’t be like that, baby. Come here and give Daddy a kiss.” Grinning, Clint raised his arms and wiggled his fingers, beckoning Tony closer, lips compressed in an exaggerated pucker and making obnoxious kissing noises that would likely feature in Tony’s nightmares in the near future.

“Just say no to the daddy kink, and more importantly”―still wearing the Iron Man suit, Tony paused and flipped Clint the bird with one large, metal finger―“Barton, you couldn’t handle this fine ass.” To emphasize the point, Tony tapped his metal hand against his armored rear.

“Oh, I think I could handle it pretty well, Stark.”

“In your _dreams_ , hawkass.”

“Definitely.” Clint’s grin edged its way into full-on flirty, and his eyes twinkled with mirth as he cocked his head to the side. “The wildest, dirtiest ones. Remind me sometime to tell you about a few standouts I’ve had about you and Cap.” Clint winked; Tony made a face. “How would you feel about a threesome? DP? I’m pretty bendy.” He arched his back into an exaggerated and―Tony had to admit―a rather impressive curve.

Before Tony could retort, Steve spoke. “No, thank you, Clint,” he said, his voice so perfectly modulated and relaxed that no one would be able to find any fault in it, but posture rigid as he strode up from behind them and smoothly edged into the few feet of space between Tony and Clint. “Not today.”

Tony flicked a glance at Steve and then frowned, absorbing how his expression shifted into tight lines, especially around his eyes. Subtle, but obvious if you knew what to look for. Tony did.

“Your loss.” Clint shrugged and continued on toward the tower while Tony paused at the disassembly catwalk and let his suit be removed, piece by piece. Steve lingered a few feet away, a tall, broad sentinel. His hands lay crossed neatly, one over the other, just below belt level. He stood, hewn from ice, unmoving except for the April breeze stirring his sun-gilded hair, his expression intense and gaze fixed on Tony. “Call me if you change your mind,” Clint called over his shoulder, flashing Tony a wink and a good-natured grin.

“Will do, birdbrain,” Tony tossed back with a bitten-off smile, his mind already running elsewhere. He rolled his shoulders back with a wince. Post-battle soreness had started to set in. What he wouldn’t give for a ninety-minute massage with an ibuprofen chaser.

“Will _not_ ,” Steve countered, and the vehemence in his tone jolted Tony from his thoughts. He turned his head to look at Steve. Glacial eyes severe and narrowed, pink slashes edging the cant of his cheekbones, Steve prowled toward Tony with intent, all sleek, leonine grace, and restrained power.

Tony yelped as Steve’s large hands closed around his waist and lifted him.  

“I’m not sharing you, Tony,” Steve said, gruff and serious, and wow, vibranium had nothing on his tight-set jaw.

“Um… Guess that rules out a polyamorous relationship, huh, big guy?” Polyamory was all well and good, but Steve was more than enough for Tony. Still, teasing him, gently, was one of the purest pleasures in Tony’s life―one he wouldn’t surrender for anything. It was fun.

One of Steve’s arms settled warmly on his thighs, just under his ass. Holy fuck, Tony thought, slinging his arms over Steve’s shoulders and around his neck. When Tony stretched his hand out, it touched the shield still strapped to Steve’s back. Steve supported Tony’s weight with a single arm while he walked them over to the elevator and jabbed the up arrow button. All without any visible signs of effort or strain. That was...at least ten different kinds of hot.

“Okay, honey bunches,” Tony said, careful to keep the laughter from his voice as he smoothed his fingers over the hinge of Steve’s jaw. Hmm. A faint spike of stubble. A long shiver skipped down his spine.

A _ding_ sounded, and the elevator doors slid open. Tony tightened his legs around Steve’s waist, deciding to just go with it. A certain amount of manhandling was just fine in his book―as long as the man doing the handling was one Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve carried Tony in and immediately pressed him back against one of the walls, dwarfing and caging him there with his substantial mass. Not that Tony minded being trapped between a wall and the hard, hot place that was Steve. As the doors slipped shut and the elevator began its smooth ascent, Tony looked down at Steve, who was still wearing his Captain America uniform, though he’d pushed back the cowl.

The material pooled in shallow folds around his neck, revealing messy, sweat-damp hair. With the barest hint of a smile tilting his lips, Tony stroked his hands through the silky strands, gently tugging at the ends, and Steve shivered and rewarded him with a soft, wounded sigh. Like a closed door had suddenly been thrown open, that sigh cast a pool of light and warmth through the dark, cold labyrinth inside Tony that had sat empty and waiting for someone who actually thought it worth the trouble to traverse it. For someone who possessed the patience to do so and didn’t run once they forged their way inside it.

(For Steve.)

For a person like Steve, who wore his duties like a second skin and prided himself on control, the little sigh that had fallen out of his mouth was a hairline fracture in his locked-up, reserved exterior and tantamount to an emphatic declaration of need. Telltale red splashes flared high and bright on the clean lines of his cheekbones, underscoring his eyes’ pristine blue and somehow rendering him even more handsome than Tony usually found him, and that—that was pretty damned handsome. More handsome, probably, than was good for Tony’s blood pressure.

This, Tony thought with an odd pang in his stomach, was a side of Steve only he got the chance to see.

Steve still wore his Cap gloves. His fingers, covered by smooth, skin-warm leather, found Tony’s face, curved over his cheeks, cradling them like Tony was something dear. His hands trembled only lightly, but enough that Tony registered it as Steve pulled him close. His thumbs skimmed through Tony’s beard, a gentle scratch through the short hair; the sensation felt a bit distant, dulled by Steve’s gloves, but it still spread soft heat through Tony’s face and liquefied the rest of his body.

They moved closer in a muted rustle of fabric until their mouths hovered less than a half inch apart. Each exhaled breath feathered across their faces as their chests rose and fell.

Eyes half-shut, Tony focused entirely on Steve’s features, which loomed blurry at that short distance. Steve pushed up against his chest. Steve’s waist held tight under his legs. Steve filling his entire field of vision. 

(The only thing that mattered right then.)

Steve. Steve. Steve.

“Steve...” Tony dropped his hand from Steve’s hair to his throat, watching as he brushed his fingertips in a small circuit against Steve’s steady pulse and his Adam’s apple―caressing until he shivered. Skin on warm skin, and― God, he hoped that felt as good for Steve as it did for him. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Tony dragged his hand back up to Steve’s head, savoring how his hair slid soft and damp against his palms and fingers as he mussed it, leaving the skin on his hands sensitized and slightly ticklish.

When Tony licked his dry lips, Steve surged forward and upward with a small, raw sound that slammed Tony in the chest with the impact of a battering ram, knocking the breath from his lungs as their mouths finally meshed.

It didn’t have the fresh, slightly fumbling quality of a first kiss―when neither person knew for certain that teeth wouldn’t clunk together, that there wouldn’t be too much tongue too fast, or they wouldn’t turn their heads the wrong way and get a bad angle. Two months into their relationship, Steve and Tony kissed with a certain smoothness and synchronicity. And if, when Tony felt goofy, he occasionally licked Steve’s cheek with the flat of his tongue just so Steve would shove him away with a full-body shudder, crinkle his nose in disgust in that adorably Steve way, and say, “Ugh. Stop that, Tony,” well, Tony, could do it secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t risking much by being a little silly and going off-script.

There was nothing silly between them now, though.

Steve’s mouth, soft and just slightly chapped, rubbed against Tony’s, coaxing heat and tingling sensation into it. His tongue traced a slow, maddening path along the borders of Tony’s mouth until his skin was buzzing.

Heat. Want. Pleasure.

But Steve didn’t dip inside where Tony wanted him. Ever the tactician, he merely stroked around and around in a damp circle until Tony felt a hot flush sweep through his face and the back of his neck before it rolled across his body in an all-encompassing wave. Tony groaned, frustrated, the sound ripped from his chest. “Tease,” he said, the word heavy with breath and hunger, and Steve swallowed it.

Tony dropped his hands to Steve’s face, tilting it up so he could nip at his mouth until it finally fell open on a gasp. Never one to forego an advantageous opportunity, Tony licked inside, bold and sure, along Steve’s teeth and the roof of his mouth, and finally curled slick against Steve’s tongue. Steve’s chest―wide and sturdy and hot―pressed to Tony’s, and one of his broad hands fell to Tony’s ass and the back of his thigh, kneading with delicious pressure that echoed throughout Tony’s body. Panting, eyes shut tight, Tony rolled his hips. He could feel it―his blood pushing hot and thick―close to the surface of his skin, everywhere, but especially in his face and his cock.

Steve broke away from the kiss. “Not teasing.” He exhaled a gusty breath.

With great effort, Tony blinked his eyes open and took in Steve’s face, attention tracking from his glazed, half-lidded eyes to the deep flush all along his cheeks, and his swollen, kiss-pink lips. Beautiful.

Steve’s hand slid from Tony’s ass to the front of his body, up through the center line of his chest, covering the arc reactor so that its blue glow filtered through the undersuit and the spaces between Steve’s long fingers, and back down. They both stared as he slipped his hand between them and cupped Tony’s cock through his thin undersuit, squeezing his balls and stroking up over the shaft and tip of his cock, no hesitation. It looked and felt so damned right, Tony thought, Steve’s big hand on him, his pale skin a stark contrast to Tony’s black undersuit, and it had only been two short months they’d been together as anything beyond friends and teammates, but he was already painfully used to his touch.

Dangerous, maybe, to want it that much and be so quickly acclimated to something that wouldn’t necessarily always be there. If he had any sense of self-preservation at all, he’d hold back more of himself―keep it hidden behind a door not even Steve and his serum-enhanced strength could break down.

(He didn’t.)

“Not teasing,” Steve repeated, throaty and low, gaze locked with Tony’s, and Tony’s breath hitched and his body throbbed as the words dragged along his cock like a deft touch before they settled in his marrow.

“So it’s like that, is it?” Tony asked and his voice sounded strange to his ears, distant, and smooth-rough like velvet gently rubbed against the nap.

“Yeah, ’s like that,” Steve replied, dipping his chin in a small nod, a suggestion of movement, the sweep of his sandy eyelashes unfairly long as his focus flicked down. Mesmerized, Tony leaned his head back against the wall, mind stuttering and stopping while he watched the long, sleek line of Steve’s throat ripple as he swallowed. Steve bit at his bottom lip, slowly pulling it through his teeth. The deep sensuality of the movement was compounded by how unconscious it was; Tony nearly moaned, but he kept it in, trying to preserve just that tiny bit of dignity, and settled for stroking his hand over the sweet round of Steve’s shoulder, over his thick biceps, and down the length of his arm. “Need you, sweetheart,” Steve said, and the words pealed and vibrated like a struck bell inside Tony.

Need you.

Hoarse. Vulnerable. Terribly soft for a man with such a big, hard body.

(That was the thing: underneath their gear and their tech, most superheroes were still just women and men.)

An admission. A secret for Tony’s ears only. A seductive notion, that.

Need you.

Tony, oh, Tony understood. Sometimes it was like that after a fight, when his blood still thrummed thick and battle-hot—percussive—beneath his skin. “I got you,” he said, breathing the promise like a blood oath into Steve’s ear and noting with satisfaction the series of tremors that quaked through his limbs.

The elevator dinged again, heralding their arrival to the penthouse floor. Steve’s arms tightened, and he pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead, lips lingering warm and sweeter than Tony expected at his skin while Tony’s heart thudded against his ribs. Warmth pricked at the backs of Tony’s eyes; he swallowed a swell of emotion. It traveled to his belly, settling there like wreckage in an ocean’s dark depths. Steve―this kind, principled, gorgeous man who could never bring himself to turn away from injustice or another person’s pain―wanted him. Sometimes it still kind of got to Tony, the fact that he was allowed to have this. To have Steve. He didn’t know how long he’d get to keep him, though, so Tony tried to make all their small moments together count.

Then they were moving again, Tony still secure in Steve’s arms. He felt a little silly about it. “You know, I can walk”―he leaned back so he could better see Steve’s face, and let his lips warm in a teasing grin―“rumor has it I can even walk and chew gum at the same time.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve replied, eyes bright, rubbing a slow circle over Tony’s lower back. “You can do almost anything, Tony.” And oh, that sounded suspiciously like admiration dripping from his warm-honey voice. Tony liked that; he liked it a lot.

Steve stepped off the elevator and led them through Tony’s suite, not stopping until they were in his bedroom, where Steve bent and gently laid Tony on his back in the bed. Of course, Steve didn’t have to be quite so careful with Tony. That he always was, though, made Tony feel cared for and cherished in a way he never examined too closely.

Feeling impatient now, Tony tried to help but only succeeded in getting one of his sleeves caught in the bend of his elbow. Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony’s predicament but didn’t help. Gaze holding Tony’s so intently that he had to swallow against the sudden dryness in his mouth, Steve dragged the side of his hand from Tony’s clavicle, down noticeably slower and softer over the arc reactor and the gnarled mass of scars set in the valley between his pecs—and Tony’s breath stuttered. It was the care with which Steve touched the arc reactor and its sibling scars that affected Tony. Sensitive to their brutal appearance, Tony didn’t like being touched there. With Steve— With Steve, it was different. Steve left a goosebump trail in his wake. His hand traveled all the way to Tony’s navel, where he briefly dipped in his finger and wiggled it.

Tony squeaked. “I can’t take it when you do that,” Tony said, mock-pouting as he bit back a giggle and wriggled on the bed. “You’re a monster.”

Steve watched him, blue eyes hooded but a smile flickering around the edges of his mouth, and Tony’s stomach did a funny little flip. “You love it.”

“I― I do.” And who knew what they were talking about? Tony stared back, swept up in all that infinite blue. He noticed the precise moment when the smile vanished from Steve’s face and his eyes darkened. His hand changed course; it moved from Tony’s navel back to his mouth. Tony’s lips parted, and Steve slipped the tip of his thumb and index finger inside, slicking them up with saliva before he drew them back out with a final press against Tony’s lower lip. Eyes hot, and locked with Tony’s, Steve skimmed his wet fingers out to Tony’s right nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger and leaving Tony with his back bowed and arching up into Steve’s touch, trying to get more. "Ah— Steve...  _Sweetness,_ " Tony said, his voice a cocktail of gravel and sharp edges.

To Tony’s great displeasure, Steve stepped back. Kneeling, but somehow still managing to look enormous, Steve removed Tony’s shoes and socks before he stood again and worked his undersuit all the way off. He left Tony in just his boxer briefs. Turning away, Steve unclipped his shield and set it carefully on the floor, several feet from the bed. Tony folded an arm beneath his head and palmed his cock through his briefs, watching Steve.

Next to come off were his boots, followed in short order by his utility belt, shield straps, jacket, and the inner layer of his uniform’s top layer. Everything Steve removed, he folded neatly before nestling it next to his shield. Aroused though he was, Tony had to smile at Steve’s neat streak and the great care he took with his possessions. Tony had teased Steve about it before; Steve had looked at him without blinking for several long moments before he’d finally shrugged and said something about being in the military and having lived through the Great Depression. Dismayed by the shadows in Steve’s eyes, Tony made sure never to tease Steve about those habits again.

His neatness, in particular, was something Tony found strangely endearing.

(Fine. There were an awful lot of things about Steve that Tony found strangely endearing.

His grandpa khakis. His habit of pulling at his lips when he was thinking. How he preferred tea or Ovaltine over coffee; what was  _that_ about? That he’d fallen in love with the 80s version of the  _ThunderCats_ cartoons.)

Just as Steve reached for his pants, Tony, tired of waiting, came up behind him and covered Steve’s warm hands with his own. “I can help,” he murmured, lips pressed to the wide, hot stretch of Steve’s back.

Steve turned slowly and curled both hands around Tony’s shoulders. “Not today you can’t,” Steve said and jerked his chin toward the bed. “Get back in bed,” he added, voice quiet but firm, and Tony blinked.

Well. That was… unexpected. Steve had just used his Cap voice on him. Tony glanced down at his own crotch, where a damp spot of darker gray had formed in the fabric of his boxer briefs; apparently, his dick didn’t mind.

“But I―” Tony said, intentionally testing Steve.

“―Tony.” Raised eyebrow. Stern-set mouth. Impassive gaze.

“Okay, boss.” Tony lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and got back in bed. He reclined against a pillow and crossed one ankle over the other, waiting.

Steve turned away from him again. As he undid his pants, the sound was unnaturally loud in the quiet bedroom. When he pushed the pants past his hips, Tony gasped and covered his mouth with both hands, sitting up.

Gone were the briefs Steve usually wore. In their place remained a black thong with what Tony guessed was a one-inch band of fabric tucked between his cheeks. Steve pulled the pants down the length of his thick, muscled thighs and calves—sunlight catching on the golden hairs there—and over his ankles, before he folded them, bending to bundle them up with the rest of his uniform.

The position did unbelievable things for his ass.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Tony said, and despite the inappropriate context, he heard the hint of reverence in his own voice. Well, he supposed if there was anything worth praise and worship, it was Steve Rogers’ ass in an itty bitty thong.

At Tony’s exclamation, Steve turned his head and cast a disapproving a look over his shoulder. Not like _that_ was new. It was perverse, of course, it was, but that frown _did_ things to Tony―made his mouth run dry and ignited fires under his skin. “Watch your mouth.”

“Watch your _ass_. I think I’ve found religion. Naughty, naughty. Steve Rogers, did you go out and fight wearing that under your uniform?”

“Well, you did suggest I try and explore more."

“I did, didn’t I? Sometimes I have genius ideas. Clearly, you have hidden depths, you minx. Now get over here so  _I_ can explore.”

“I meant what I said, Tony. I’m not sharing you.”

“You beautiful idiot. Do you honestly think _I_   want to share _you_ with  _Clint_? Or anyone else? Come on, baby. I know you're smarter than that. The only thing I want you to share is that delicious ass. With me. Just me.”

“We’ll see.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’ll see what I decide to give you.”

“Steve…”

“Hush, Tony.”

"I hate you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Writing is so hard, yo. *wipes sweat* If you feel up to it, please drop me a note. If not, I still hope you got something out of reading this. Be well. Comments, kudos, etc. are cherished and oohed and aahed at. 
> 
> The next part should be up next Friday.
> 
> You can also find me at [tumblr](http://onlymorelove.tumblr.com) until it implodes. I'm also at [dreamwidth](https://only-more-love.dreamwidth.org/), though I'm not using it much just yet. That should change. Come say hi if you like!
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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